


What Good Beginnings To This Sad End

by Gleaming_Spires (cuppaktea)



Series: Nor Custom Stale [1]
Category: History Boys - All Media Types, History Boys - Bennett
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Future Fic, M/M, here there be bitterness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-28 01:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15038123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuppaktea/pseuds/Gleaming_Spires
Summary: Dakin and Irwin meet in 2003. The outcome ultimately depends on the people they've become.Written as part of a pair, this follows on from canon from the play





	What Good Beginnings To This Sad End

**Author's Note:**

> Title stolen from D.H. Lawrence.

 

 

Dakin taps, irritated, at his phone. There’s a ton of work to do at the office and the new intern seems to need step-by-step instructions to everything. Unfortunately from his current position in a hospital waiting room he’s not in a position to get everything up to speed.

 

The phone pings with another question from the new guy about how to file a case from last week. Before he can do much more than tut, a nurse comes over to point passive aggressively at a sign that tells him his mobile is killing people who are in comas. He smiles with all the fake warmth he can muster and switches it off.

 

Glad to be free of the responsibility, really, he checks his watch and goes back to staring at the pot plant opposite. Six hours since he slammed his fingers in the car door this morning (latest generation BMW, big, shiny black, powerful, expensive, sexy) and fifteen minutes since a matronly nurse with no time for flirting declared them to be unbroken, gave him an injection for pain relief and sent him back out into this scuffed pale blue purgatory to wait for them to go numb enough to be stitched up.

 

The door opposite bangs off the wall and he looks up, eager to hear his name called. It’s not her; instead, it’s some poor bloke in a wheelchair who simply misjudged how hard to push the fire-door. Dakin would probably take no further notice but the pale face drawn with pain and tiredness stirs a faint feeling of sympathy - followed by a much stronger one of interest.

 

He’s not certain at first, but when the other man’s heavily lidded eyes take on a similar look of puzzled recognition he has no doubt that it’s Irwin. He’s put on a bit of weight, probably from being stuck in the chair - he’s almost the size of a normal person now, and his hair is starting to turn grey but otherwise, he looks exactly the same.

 

It’s surreal, Dakin thinks as Irwin wheels himself over.

 

“Dakin?” He asks, and Dakin isn’t sure if he’s questioning whether he’s remembered the name correctly, or whether it is, in fact, the person he thinks it is.

 

Standing, Dakin smiles. “Hi. Sorry, I’d shake hands but…” He holds up his bruised and bloodied fingers.

 

Irwin winces.

 

“It’s fine, you should see the other guy.” He quips, extremely aware of the urge to bend down in order to look Irwin in the eye, and of how very bad it would be to give in to it. “What brings you here?”

 

“Torture. They call it physiotherapy but I disagree. I have an appointment to be tortured every month. They’re especially kind about putting the physio department on the twenty-fifth floor.”

 

Dakin considers the consequences of going off the grid for a few more hours. _What the hell,_ he thinks, _I’ve dealt with enough shit today_ and plunges ahead. “Are you allowed coffee after you’ve been tortured?”

 

Irwin grimaces. “They frown on caffeine.” He pauses and Dakin assumes that’s as polite a refusal as he could ask for, but Irwin readjusts his glasses (new, but just as awful as ever) and bites his lip for a second, considering.

 

“On the other hand, it’s good to be unexpected.”

 

Dakin could say that breaking that stupid rule is the first thing anyone would expect, but he’s got what he wanted and he’s not stupid enough to jinx it by insulting Irwin straight away.

 

The nurse finally calls his name and Irwin wishes him luck and tells him he’ll wait in the café by the front door.

 

Once his fingers are all stitched up, Dakin makes his way down to the shiny new Starbucks on the ground floor feeling unpleasantly clammy and nauseous. He thinks Irwin might not have been joking about the torture, after all.

 

The fresh air from the external revolving doors partially removes the smell of disinfectant and filth and now they’re within scenting distance of fresh air and sunlight he has a sudden desperate urge to be completely free of the place.

 

He spies Irwin and makes his way over, rather less steadily than he would like. “Do you mind if we forget the expensive coffee? I fancy something stronger.”

 

Irwin eyes him with suspicion, or possibly interest, Dakin isn’t sure. Right now he’d rather not be looked at.

 

“There’s a pub around the corner.” He explains, forcing some humour into his voice, to go with a fake smile. “Nobody weeping, no one dragging a drip stand, no smell of piss. You have to admit there’s not much atmosphere here.”

 

“When you put it like that, how can I refuse?”

 

The revolving door is awkward. A nurse has to shuffle around with Irwin, pushing it for him. It’s painfully slow and Dakin’s skin crawls with embarrassment, most of it for Irwin.

 

If he couldn’t tell from Irwin’s face the speed at which he propels himself along on the short walk to the pub would be enough to show Dakin how exhausted he is.

 

“Would you like me to push?” He asks, slowing his steps to keep pace.

 

Irwin’s face says yes, Dakin can read the relief in his features, but he shakes his head.

 

“I’ve been in the chair for twenty years, I can manage thanks.”

 

Feeling strangely hurt, Dakin doesn’t press the issue, although he privately thinks Irwin’s a stupid sod.

 

Dakin insists on getting the drinks and Irwin is plainly too tired to argue, even though he looks as if he’d like to.

 

“So,” Dakin says, with a nod to the wheelchair as he settles into the booth “does everything work?”

 

“’ _Everything_ ’ meaning except both of my legs? Worried I have a catheter or something equally disgusting?”

 

“It had crossed my mind.”

 

Irwin snorts in annoyance.

 

“Are you still straight?” The challenge is clear in his voice, pushing Dakin out of his comfort zone as punishment.

 

Dakin can fight dirty too and wrong-foots Irwin again by answering honestly. “Mostly. I wouldn’t want the hassle of seeing men, to be honest.”

 

Irwin puts down his drink purposefully and looks him up and down. Dakin gets the feeling he’s being disapproved of.

 

“What hassle?” Irwin finally asks.

 

“People’s opinions of you change, the way they treat you, how seriously they take you – at least in my line of business.”

 

Irwin nods in concession, his gaze softening, and changes the subject.

 

“Do you keep up with anyone from school?”

 

“No, I’ve got enough of my own problems.”

 

“Been busy?”

 

“Partner in my firm, married, divorced, three kids, two girls with my wife, and a boy with my girlfriend. Subsequently ex-wife and ex-girlfriend.”

 

“Messy.”

 

“Quite.”

 

Embarrassed and not quite sure why he’s doing it, he digs out his wallet and shows the picture of his twins to Irwin.

 

“Sofia and Francesca.”

 

“Italian, your ex-wife?”

 

“Italian names after where they were conceived, that’s all very _in_ these days.”

 

“The names are… surprisingly tasteful for it. What about your son? Please don’t tell me something cringe-worthy like ‘Lift-at-the-Hilton’, ‘Kitchen-Table’?”

 

Dakin scowls. “Joshua.”

 

“Ah.” Irwin’s eyes twinkle over his pint.

 

“He wasn’t planned - at least, not by me - I wouldn’t put it past her. Ironic really because we went through all sorts to have the girls, IVF, you name it. However, a mistress is one thing, but a secret family is too sleazy for me. After she got pregnant it all had to come out. Unfortunately, Sandra wasn’t in a forgiving mood.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be. _I’m the one who fucked it up, aren’t I?_ As Sandra says.

 

It’s not too bad, I see the girls once a month. His mum’s a bit of a bunny-boiler so I see Josh more often, another twist of irony.

 

How about you?”

 

“All rather tame. No kids, no double life.”

 

“No man?”

 

“A few through the years. No one now.” He decides not to mention that it’s been over six months since he last had sex, although he’s half-convinced Dakin knows anyway.

 

“I miss seeing you on my telly. Although you wore more foundation than my last girlfriend.”

 

“Yeah well, that’s a downside of dating drag queens.”

 

Dakin laughs.

 

“You’re in the corridors of power now, eh? Back to being a ventriloquist, only this time the dummy actually looks like one.”

 

“Possibly flattering yourself there.”

 

“Go on then, you never answered me. Are you all functional?”

 

Irwin gives him a disapproving look and Dakin’s pants tighten in response.

 

“I can walk a bit – with support, regained some nerve function, thanks for asking. The physio has helped a lot.”

 

Dakin raises an eyebrow and doesn’t drop his stare.

 

Irwin’s nostrils flare in irritation.

 

“You want to know whether my dick works and I’m not going to answer. I assure you that the interest is not returned.”

 

“Liar.” Dakin grins. “If I give you my number will you call?”

 

Irwin answers truthfully for a change. “Probably not.”

 

“Let me have yours then.”

 

Irwin glances away, making up his mind. Dakin shoves a napkin and a pen towards him.

 

“Fine, but don’t expect anything.”

 

They meet up that weekend for a pint and end up in Irwin’s bed.

 

After that, they settle into a pattern of easy companionship down the pub on Friday nights and occasional no-strings-attached sex.

 

It’s good. Irwin’s inventiveness more than makes up for his restricted mobility and Dakin is content, free from the pressure of trying to impress anyone by pretending to be something he’s not, and it’s great for a few weeks until Irwin phones to tell him it’s all over.

 

“Is there someone else?”

 

Silence down the line confirms it.

 

He shouldn’t feel jealous, he shouldn’t even really miss it, it’s only a weekly pint and the odd fuck, and besides, he turns down better offers than Irwin’s bony arse almost every week, but as he wishes Irwin good luck with his life and puts the phone down Dakin feels an emptiness like he hasn’t known since the night he moved out of the home he used to share with his wife and daughters.

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine if Dakin and Irwin as they are in the play were to meet later in life they would each be too absorbed in their own bitterness/ self-interest to make a relationship work (with anyone, but together it's just double the dysfunction). 
> 
> I had much fun writing this miserable version of my two favourite characters.


End file.
